“All I can say is, if he is, you’re a young fool if you care two straws. Tempest’s a good fellow; but he’s rather a way of not allowing a fellow to have a soul of his own.”
This failed to console me. I made one effort to see Tempest and explain, but he was occupied with his books, and did not even deign to notice my presence in his study.
Later on in the evening all speculation as to the result of the morning’s interview was set at rest. An unusual summons came to Sharpe’s to meet the doctor in our hall.
We assembled uncomfortably and with sore spirits. The worry of the whole business was telling on us, and we heartily hoped, while we clamoured for no surrender in words, that Tempest would disappoint us for once.
The doctor came presently, looking very grave, and accompanied by Mr Jarman. From the head master’s face we concluded at once that all was up. But to our surprise he said,—
“I am glad to say, in reference to the matter I met you boys about yesterday, that Tempest has taken a proper sense of his duty, and has undertaken to apologise for his conduct to Mr Jarman. That being so, Tempest, you will please take this opportunity of expressing your regret.”
Tempest flushed as he rose in obedience to the doctor’s summons. It was evidently, as Redwood had said, “a bitter pill,” and had he been a less brave fellow, he could hardly have swallowed it. As it was, even the knowledge that the welfare of the entire house was somehow dependent on his submission was scarcely able to break down his pride.
He advanced to Mr Jarman more like one who comes to administer a thrashing than ask for pardon, and after eyeing him almost fiercely for a moment, summoned his self-control sufficiently to say hoarsely,—
“I apologise, sir.”
Mr Jarman bit his lips. It was not the triumph he had expected. Indeed the whole manner of it was such as to hurt instead of soothe his feelings.